His Fading Humanity

Chapter 22: Crucify

This is what true oppression looked like.

After all, it was easier to control a kingdom full of sheep than a kingdom full of wolves.

They all, at once, lifted their spears and slammed the end of them against the ground, eliciting a throaty, deep cry to announce their presence to their king.

He always was amused by the spectacles of power.

"You are permitted to speak to your king." He spoke, voice low and swift.

"My king," The young, pale-faced lad spoke, "We have the prisoners chained up outside." His tone was even and strong.

Weakness was not permitted in the kingdom of Nether.

"You placed them outside of the kingdom gates, correct? On Skull Hill?" The king questioned.

Skull Hill overlooked the kingdom and sat at the entrance of the Nether Kingdom. Every traveller dreaded passing by the hill because it always boasted of the king's prisoners - dead or dying in gruesome, torturous ways. Crucifixion was the king's personal favorite choice, but so was skinning alive and boiling.

"Yes, my king." The young man spoke again.

The king nodded in appreciation, rising to his feet. He towered over most people and became the monster that haunted everyone's dreams when they closed their eyes.

"Escort me. I believe we have an execution to attend, do we not?"

* * *

The four prisoners stood side by side. Heads hung low and as naked as the day they were born. Their ankles were chained together and their hair was matted and dirty. Their bare bodies bore the harsh treatment they had endured all of their lives - skinny and scarred. Ribs pushing through their tightly stretched skin that wrapped around their skeletal frames horrendously. Deep and raised scars adorned their bodies as well as fresh wounds and bruises they had received in recent beatings in their time in captivity.

Dirt was washed up their legs and arms, their hands were torn and bloodied from forced prison labor. All four of them were young, too young. Their families and most of the kingdom encircled them, forced to watch the death of their people.

The sky was gray, the wind nipped at their skin and swept their dark hair across their downcast eyes. Destined to die.

They were simply slaughter-stock.

One of the four, around the age of fourteen, was shaking profusely. He feared death tremendously and knew that his last breath would end in agony.

The king saw this and smirked.

He ran a hand through the boy's hair and ruffled it in an almost gentle way. The boy resisted the urge to flinch and cower away, tears brimming to his eyes in fear and stress.

Softly, the king placed a hand under the boy's chin and tilted his head up to look at him. Large, brown eyes framed with long, dark lashes stared back at the king. Full of fear and glassy. The depths of his soul housed the king's reflection, he could stare back at his own royal face in the boy's orbs.

"What is your crime?" King Athros asked, despite knowing the boy's crime.

"I-I took too much of the s-soldier's rations, m-my king." The boy whispered back, searching his ruler's eyes for even a glitter of mercy.

There was none.

"My soldiers need to be strong in order to fight well for my cause. What you did was treason in my eyes, which is punishable by death. You dishonored your kingdom because of your own desires."